Triumph
by borgprincess
Summary: The drone dies, everyone mourns...or not quite, as you can see from the title. Seven has her moments, but this short story was written when I wasn't in the mood to appreciate her finer points.


**Triumph**

"Tuvok to the bridge."

"Bridge here," Janeway answered, raising an eyebrow at her First Officer. Both could detect the disquiet in the Vulcan Security Chief's voice.

"There has been an incident in the cargo bay- Seven of Nine is dead."

Janeway's eyebrows drew together and her lips tightened in grim concentration. "Are you sure?" To any one of her officers, the Captain would have appeared worried, hoping there was some hope for her crewmember; some possibility the ex-drone may have survived. "There's no chance…"

"Burnt to a crisp," came the brisk, matter of fact tones of their Chief Engineer over the comm. "It looks like she was trying to boost her superiority again," the sarcasm was thick in Torres' voice. "Remember that cortical processing subunit fiasco the last time? Looks like she didn't learn her lesson; she must have been absolutely fixated on this idea of maximising efficiency by interfacing with Voyager's systems, like in the bloody Borg Collective!"

Oh, yes, she remembered- it had given her the idea in the first place.

"Looks like a faulty relay caused her to access more than she could handle, or maybe she just assumed her sophisticated Borg enhanced neural structure could take the stress and overrode safety protocols installed for that very reason-"

At the head of the bridge, Paris at the Helm muttered, "Looks like a case of biting off more than you can chew…"

"- it took her out first, then, shaky as the systems have been after the bloody Khellinins decided hit and runs were the latest in entertainment, which I hadn't had time to fix yet even though she was yapping at me to get it done, that in the Collective, things were more efficient, that I wasn't maximising the skills at my disposal and that she should perhaps do my job for me and on and on and on, Kahless! It drove me wild, and I told the damn Borg to wait, I'd get around to it, but nooo-"

Chakotay chuckled as his old friend's temper got in the way of her professionalism. Janeway traded amused glances with him, enquiring blandly, "Lieutenant?"

Torres cleared her throat and continued as though there had been no deviation, "a random malfunction interfered with the processing algorithms, a few equations switched, variables increased, factors erased, nothing much individually, but I'll tell you, the mess here from the ensuing program failure, and the resulting system crash," there was outrage in her voice, suggesting that if Seven had survived, it wouldn't have been for long after daring to tamper with Torres' precious systems, violating a direct order in doing so, "leading to a chain reaction and burning out a few circuits near the regeneration chamber and-" she drew in a breath, "- well, like I said, burnt to a crisp."

"I see," Janeway said gravely, hiding her exultation. So many things could have gone wrong along the way; her concern had been that she may have fused the wrong circuit, burnt out a relay a moment too soon or miscalculated the power ratio- any of these factors could have resulted in a miraculous escape from death for Seven of Nine. The damn Borg drone had more lives than a cockroach. "I'll make sure the proper arrangements will be made for her funeral. Such a terrible tragedy…"

Torres kept quiet, realising that anything she said would instantly be recognized as insincere. After all, there had been no love lost between her and the Borg. Another month- hell, another week and she would have done something permanent about the smug, prim, entirely too up herself 'Miss-I'm-So-Perfect-And-Efficient-And-' Torres cut herself off, shrugging mentally. It wasn't worth wasting any more time on the drone.

Casting a look at the charred remains of the once beautiful, voluptuous blond, the Chief Engineer shook her head in wonder. It was such a coincidence that all this had result from one small malfunctions. Just a one in a million happenstance- and the timing was impeccable; that drone had been steadily assimilating the ship with her wily ways, insinuating herself into the highest levels, and even Chakotay had been close to being-Torres blinked. Chakotay. Not just him, of course, Harry, the Doctor as well… and good for Tom that she had never caught him in the act of eyeing the over endowed drone's assets, but the important factor here was their Native American First Officer. More important than that was his significance to their respected and much loved Captain. Thinking of the Captain, Janeway's words came back to her: proper arrangements will be made…such a terrible tragedy…The slight emphasis in that statement was suspicious. And she had just been thinking what serendipity it had been regarding the 'malfunction'…

Janeway too was thinking of how her mission had been accomplished, mentally tallying points to make sure that no trace of guilt could be followed back to her. She had been very thorough in preparations for this happy day, and overly cautious when subtly maneuvering incidents to her satisfaction. No one could have caught any malevolent intent in her seemingly innocent statement to Seven about the past trial with the cortical processing subunit, its unfortunate failure and the observation that the Borg had never admitted defeat to anyone or anything in their ongoing search for perfection…

And Seven had taken the bait. But she still had to be careful if she was to pull it off. Her jubilation must remain hidden, else others would suspect. And there was one person in particular who must never ever suspect it of her.

Turning to Chakotay, she sighed wistfully, "And she was proceeding so well with her humanity…then now this happens."

He reached over, taking her hand in a comforting gesture. Looking at his expression, Janeway wasn't sure how to interpret the sparkle in his eye.

Strangely, it was almost as if- she smiled warmly at him, and he reciprocated, a message transcending telepathy being exchanged between the two. At last, she broke eye contact, but their hands remained joined.

Later that evening, when Torres went to see the Captain, unsure how to phrase her conclusions but wanting to offer support and a subtle thanks- she knew that when the Captain did something, it was never for one reason alone- for saving her ass from real trouble, what with Starfleet frowning on the murder of one's fellow crewmembers, she found the Captain had company. Grinning at the sight of the command team together for once in informal dress and outside a public arena, she backed out again, murmuring apologies and excuses.

"She catches on quickly," Janeway observed, watching Torres exit with all due speed.

Chakotay said significantly, "I'm sure the pools will be up and running again."

"Would have stagnated for some time, I'm sure?" there was regret in her voice.

He shrugged. "Just as long as a fresh current is free to flow through now, it doesn't have any bearing on the present- or the future."

They nodded, enjoying the reclaimed warmth between them. The future had much promise for them both now.


End file.
